


The Sun Burns (But I Die Without You)

by enjolrazzledazzle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Sobriety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrazzledazzle/pseuds/enjolrazzledazzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three whole months since Grantaire touched a drop of alcohol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Burns (But I Die Without You)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: mentions of alcohol abuse and a near death experience. But there's a happy ending because I can't write anything but fluff. I really love this fic and these characters. Enjoy!

It had been 3 whole months since Grantaire touched a drop of alcohol. 

It hadn't been his first exhibition at a gallery, far from it. But that didn't mean he didn't want to down something to take the nervous edge off. And as always, something became 4 glasses of wine and swigs from an obvious flask. 

As the night progressed, his words became slurred and his movements fumbling. When his friends arrived he was well on his way to being properly plastered. 

Looking back, he thinks maybe seeing that look did it. He had seen the look before from his friends, of course, he was an alcoholic. It was the look that said ‘I am so disappointed in you. This is painful to watch’. 

Seeing Bahorel grimace and Jehan with watery eyes. Seeing Combeferre looking stern and Eponine looking furious. Seeing all his friends with that shared disappointment had made something in him snap. 

But before things got better, they got worse. He dragged himself away from the gallery and back to the large house they rented. 

And after drinking tequila like it was water that night in the attic, he shouldn't have been surprised when he woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. 

“Fuck you, R! Fuck you. We thought you were going to die. I found you in a pile of your own vomit. They had to pump your fucking stomach. I thought you weren't gonna make it.” Eponine was sobbing and Cosette had to restrain her from smacking Grantaire. 

“Grantaire, we know you think interventions are bullshit,” Courfeyrac had told him, looking angrier than Grantaire had ever seen. “And sometimes they are. But we don't think you'll live to see next year if you keep this up.”

Grantaire couldn't look a single one of them in the eye. 

“For fuck’s sake ‘Taire. We love you. You need to get better,” Bahorel said, taking Grantaire's shoulders into his large hands. 

“It’s not like I decided to be a worthless mess,” R mumbled in reply, glancing at his friends. 

“Oh, darling. None of us think you're worthless. Or that you've chosen addiction,” Jehan said. He wasn't even hiding the salty tears pouring down his caramel colored cheeks. 

“I'm not an alcoholic,” he whispered but he wasn't even convincing himself. 

“Yes. Yes you are.” Joly was solemn, his jovial smile missing. 

Grantaire took in the scene. All of his friends crammed into a tiny hospital room, looking tired and worried and sad. But they had all stuck around for some reason. There had to be some truth to their words of love. 

“I think,” he choked out, “I think I'm willing to try. This whole ‘hitting rock bottom’ thing isn't as glamorous as the films make it out to be.”

The smiles and words of encouragement made that empty feeling dissipate a little. 

“I guess I'm not gonna be the Dionysus to your Apollo, huh?” Grantaire called out weakly as his friends left to let him rest. 

Enjolras turned, his stony expression crumbling. For the first time that night, Grantaire thought maybe Enjolras cared too. 

“I'm sorry if I made you believe you were worthless. I know you, despite our quarrels. And you say you believe in me. So if you do believe in me, then you also must believe that you can do this. Because I do. Find the flaw in that logic.”

Now on the kitchen floor, crying, Grantaire replayed the events of that night. He stared at the liquor cabinet as though it contained the key to happiness. 

About 5 feet stood between him and relapse and sobs wracked through his body. Just one more drink wouldn't hurt. Just something to quench his thirst and get him through the night. To get him numb and buzzed. 

His paint stained boxers and undershirt were damp with sweat and his dark curls were knotted. He was so weak. So fucking worthless and -

His hateful thoughts and muffled cries were cut off by the creaking of a door. He didn't even glance up. He didn't have to. He knew he would just see Enjolras looking sleepy and ethereal and disappointed. 

“R?” 

Grantaire only hid his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He heard footsteps and a door creaking again and assumed Enjolras was going back to sleep.

But seconds later he felt a blanket draped across his shoulders. 

He heard a faucet running and felt a presence in front of him. Sure enough, it was Enjolras, concerned and beautiful. 

“Drink,” he ordered softly. 

Grantaire took the glass with shaking hands and drained its contents. 

“It's not what I want,” he mumbled, handing the glass back. 

“I know. Come on. Let's get you off this floor. Hasn't been cleaned in ages.”

Grantaire snorted and let Enjolras guide him into his room. He had seen it before in passing. It wasn't much to see, just a crammed bookcase, a desk and a large bed. 

“Lie down. You look exhausted.”

Grantaire complied and rested his head on the soft pillows. “It’s tiring being a recovering alcoholic,” he grunted. 

“It must be.” 

Grantaire didn't know what he expected to happen next. But it certainly wasn't Enjolras settling beside him and pulling him to his chest. 

“What are you doing?”

“I'm holding you. If any of our friends had found you lying on the floor sobbing, they'd insist you need to be cuddled. But I found you. So I guess I'll have to do,” he responded like he was explaining a math equation. Grantaire could barely see him in the dark but if he had to guess, Enjolras was probably wearing a determined frown. 

“Don't feel obligated to take care of the family drunk. I'm not like a dog that needs walking,” Grantaire muttered but nuzzled closer. 

“God, you're daft. I love you, alright. Now quit arguing and let me hold you,” he murmured like Grantaire was being ridiculous. 

“No you don't,” Grantaire argued. 

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, squinting into the darkness. 

“You don't love me. It's really shitty of you to say something like that when I'm having a breakdown,” he mumbled and pushed away to lie on his side, facing away from Enjolras. 

“Grantaire, I'm not joking. I don't say things that I don't mean. I love you.”

Grantaire's shoulders were shaking again. 

“R, look at me. Please,” he pleaded and maybe it was the desperate tone in his voice that caused Grantaire to roll over, his eyes gleaming. 

“Since when?” he asked in a small voice, still scared this was an elaborate joke. 

“I don't know. I think I realized it in the waiting room of the hospital though. We all thought you were gonna die. They were pumping your stomach and telling us you might not make it through the night. I realized then that I love you. That if you died and my constant insults had some part in your demise, I wouldn't ever forgive myself. I love you.”

Enjolras’ lips were warm and soft against his, asking a question. 

Grantaire answered by pressing back, sighing and stroking a shaking hand down the other man's side. 

Their lips moved without thought, expressing those repressed emotions and saying everything that needed to be said. 

Chest to chest, legs tangled together, the two men kissed like they needed it to breathe. 

“I love you too,” Grantaire murmured after breaking away. “I'm so fucking glad I'm sober for this,” he laughed, tangling his fingers with Enjolras’.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
